hello again, friend of a friend
by but seriously
Summary: In which Klaus is unrelenting, Kol is exasperated, and Caroline is stuck in the middle of all of it. kol/caroline, klaus/caroline. three-shot. no, really.
1. how

**A/N: **So. _This_ is what I've been working on because I have a ridiculous case of writer's block. Vaguely—or not very vaguely, doesn't matter—requested by scalps in a review. I wasn't really thinking about it too seriously, but then… this happened. I know how ridiculous it sounds, and I'm not taking it too seriously. Idk, this is either the worst thing I've ever written or the beginning of my love/hate relationship with Kol/Caroline.

Urgh, idek, I hate this. I wrote this with severe lack of sleep, and just - urgh. Probably going to delete this whole thing if I wake up tomorrow and reread this and feel embarrassed.

P/S: this is really fucking long, 10k total, so I broke it up into two parts.

.

.

.

**hello again, friend of a friend**

**un  
><strong>

.

.

.

"Nik."

The hybrid looks up from tracing patterns on Kol's bedspread and offers a nod in greeting. "Been a while, brother."

Kol gapes—not a very good look on him, Klaus notes with a smirk—and tries to sit down on his reading chair, but misses completely and ends up on the floor instead. And still that look of shock and fear didn't leave his face.

"I take it you're not too glad to see me?" Sighing, the hybrid falls back against Kol's pillows and keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling. "Did I miss much?"

Did I miss much?

Really. _Did I miss much_?

_Really?_

Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, Kol makes his way back to his bed—slowly, tentatively—and watches his brother with wary eyes as he settles down next to him. They stare at the slowly revolving ceiling fan (Brazilian Rosewood, or some other wood with an equally as pretentious stature to match the lavishness of the home Klaus had built for them) for a while, neither one saying a word.

"There has to be a good reason as to why you're lying next to me on my bed right now," Kol says out loud, more to himself than to his brother.

"I got tired of standing," is Klaus's easy reply.

"Well, there has to be a tangible reason why you're _here_," Kol snaps, locking eyes with Klaus.

It appears Klaus' temper is short as well, because he retorts, "What, considering the fact that I'm not?"

"Not what? Tangible?" Before Klaus can react, Kol shoots a hand out to touch his brother's arm, and nearly retches when his fingers grasp at nothingness. He clears his throat, blinks a few times, and tries to keep his pupils from dilating as he says, like it's a fact or something: "My hand just went right through you."

"Observant." Klaus turns away.

.

.

.

Kol locks Klaus in his room, hurls all sorts of threats he can think of for his brother to stay in there—at least until he can figure this out or gets useful answers instead of the sarcastic quips Klaus keeps supplying. He might as well have thrown a rock in the water and told it to float: Klaus easily walks through the wall and nearly scares the shit out of him when he puts his hand right through Kol's chest, where his heart is.

"I just can't understand this," Klaus bursts out after multiple attempts of taking off Kol's head as he walks from one corner of his room to another (the younger Original quickly got bored of Klaus's pseudo-attempts of touching him after getting over his initial scare). Kol doesn't feel anything, just the slightest tingle of an icy shower when Klaus' passes through him.

"You think I do?" Kol mutters back, running a hand through his hair. "Just—just stay here for a bit, will you? I'm getting Elijah."

Klaus' face falls. "Kol, I don't think—"

"Look, I know you think I'm incapable of forming my own ideas," Kol begins with a glare, "and most of the times you might be right, but I think I'd figure this out faster with Elijah's help, alright?"

Kol vaguely notes Klaus' mutter of "suit yourself" as he marches out of the room, hollering for Elijah at the top of his lungs.

"Elijah!" Nope, not in the kitchen.

"Elijah?" Poking his head in his brother's room, he finds it empty.

He tramples his way down the foyer and kicks down the door to the basement, yelling, "Elijah, you better be down here or—ARGH, BEKAH WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Rebekah scrambles for her shirt to cover her bare chest, her face burning red as she kicks a shirtless Damon off the couch. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Hey, Kol," Damon says, raising a casual hand.

Kol's trying to claw his eyes out, but the scene's burned its way through every crack of his memory. "I—just—put some clothes on!" he wails, tearing down the decorative ninth century Indian rug hanging from the wall to hurl it onto his sister.

He then proceeds to run from the room, yelling something about strumpets and obscene household etiquette, narrowly escaping the coffee table Rebekah hurls at him.

He finally finds Elijah at the very edge of their vast lawn, hands dusted with dirt and his usual suit rumpled.

"Elijah!" Kol groans, exasperated. "I was yelling myself bloody looking for you."

Kol's bewildered garble makes no sense to Elijah at all, so Kol decides to just _show_ him, something about actions being louder than words or whatever strange sayings the new millennia seems to have come up with. He drags Elijah back to the mansion, past a (thankfully dressed, but still seething) Rebekah, and clamber all the way up to the third floor to burst through his bedroom door.

Klaus has his back to them, studying the spines of the books on his shelf.

"There!" Kol nudges Elijah closer to Klaus—shudders when he actually _walks into Klaus_—and says triumphantly, "Explain that, brother."

"Explain what?" Elijah asks, rather cross at having his personal time breached. "That your copy of Romanian History is missing? It must be Rebekah's doing, because I certainly don't recall taking it."

Kol gapes for the third time that day. "No, I was talking about how Nik is ri—"

Elijah's face softens suddenly, and he puts a hand on Kol's shoulder. "This must be hard on you, brother. Especially as you two ended things on such…" Elijah tries to search for a more tact word, fails. "…bad terms."

Behind him, Klaus is chuckling lightly.

Kol tears away from his brother's hold, running through all sorts of obscene words in his mind. "Nik is _right here_."

Elijah offers a small smile. "Yes, sometimes my memories of Klaus are so vivid I think I see him lurking in the shadows, too." He pats Kol's shoulder one last time on his way out of the room, but pauses at the door. "Try sleeping this off, brother. We still have his funeral to prepare for."

Muttering wordlessly, Kol turns away rudely from Elijah back to his stupid, useless, benign-looking brother.

Klaus shrugs. "'I told you so' is overrated, but…"

Kol falls back onto his bed, despaired.

.

.

.

The day Stefan put a White Oak stake through Klaus' heart had been a sunny one.

Apparently Katherine had returned, arms laden with the stuff, saying something about Esther approaching her and striking up a bargain. In return for the branches of the White Oak, she'lll grant her the "gift of forgiveness" for causing that rift between her sons all those centuries ago.

Needless to say, Katherine had agreed to those terms.

Stefan had marched right into the house, straight into Klaus' art room where he'd been painting, and with a fiery smile and a steady hand, had plunged the stake right into his former friend and reluctant ally's heart.

"See you in hell, buddy," he had smirked, staring down at Klaus as his skin whitened and his body writhed on the floor.

They held a victory celebration afterwards, with streamers and lighters and cake and lots and lots of alcohol, people getting drunk on the sidewalks and dancing on the Lockwood's lawn.

From his view across the lake, Kol swallows his bitterness, shoves his hands in his pockets, thinks: Klaus had it coming. He's had it coming for centuries.

He doesn't notice much else, his thoughts all a blur, and wonders again why he's even there, staring at the people partying his brother's death away. He turns to leave, shutting out the noise around him.

He vaguely notes that the blonde from the bar is curiously absent.

.

.

.

"You never finished this," Kol remarks, running his eyes over the canvas. Klaus is standing next to him, that forlorn look he gets when he wants to touch something but remembers he can't in his eyes.

"I was interrupted by that bloody ripper, remember?" Sighing, he turns away from the blue eyes and golden hair he had carefully painted, and looks around his vast room. "Surprised Esther hasn't taken my paintings down yet."

Kol smiles bitterly and shrugs his shoulders. "Didn't you know? Elijah wants nothing to do with her."

"Oh." Klaus walks around the room, still in his clothes from the day he died—blue jeans, grey Henley, black jacket. His usual attire, minus the gaping hole in his chest. He looked so solid and so… alive.

"Care to venture a guess as to why you're not translucent? Not even in the slightest?"

"I'm a ghost, Kol," Klaus says. "Not a reflection in the water."

"So if you're a ghost, why can't anybody else see you?" Kol glares at his brother. "I clearly remember that one time moth—Esther called back the spirit of that girl you killed just to make you feel remorse."

Klaus grimaces at the memory, but shakes his head. "Of all the people in the world, of course the brother I never got along with gets to see me in all my dead glory. Let me assure you I know just about as much as you do about this situation: nothing at all."

"Ah." He tugs on his tie, too uncomfortable in his dark suit to bark a response. "I guess we should get a move on."

"Let's."

It's dark and gloomy today, as if the world disagreed with his brother's death. Klaus notes this with morbid satisfaction, and doesn't say a single word as they make their way to the edge of the lawn where Elijah had been digging yesterday.

Kol had offered to compel other people to do it, but Elijah had shaken his head no. He'd like to do it himself, he had said.

Kol thinks Klaus looks the slightest bit touched, but the look is quickly replaced with a stony one as he spots the closed casket.

"Elijah's worried Rebekah might get nightmares," Kol whispered. "You're a gruesome sight to behold, but no more than usual."

"Oh, shut up," Klaus grumbles. "You lot better be saying nice things about me."

"Don't count on it," Kol smirks, and Klaus seethes.

Kol wants to laugh, but refrains himself—it's a funeral after all, but it doesn't really _feel_ like one. Especially when the person he's supposed to be mourning is grumbling away beside him, looking very much alive and not in the slightest bit worried that he's dead.

Kol supposes death does that to you. You come to terms with it pretty quickly.

He vaguely wonders what Klaus had seen on the other side that's left him strangely… less volatile than when he was alive (or undead, but you get the gist).

Klaus tries to smack Kol in the back of the head when it looks like Kol's mind has wandered off (at his _funeral_, no less!) and snarls, "A little respect to my deceased body, Kol?"

Kol rolls his eyes and hands his rose to his sister for later use. After the roses had been placed in a safe place somewhere, Elijah, Rebekah and Kol (and Klaus) huddle in a weird sort of circle around Klaus' coffin, none of them saying a word.

The silence is broken by the sound of someone crunching through the grass, and Kol turns his head to see who had dared intrude on their closed event.

Klaus' eyes widen.

Caroline's standing there, of pale cheeks and golden hair, clutching a single red rose in her still hands. She starts to say something, decides against it, but finally settles for, "I hope you don't mind."

Rebekah's scowling, but Elijah gestures for her to come nearer. "Not at all."

Kol raises a questioning eyebrow at Klaus, who just shrugs, confused but with the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.

After Klaus had been lowered into the ground, and after Elijah and Kol had taken turns shovelling the dirt in, Elijah bends down to place his rose on the freshly dug earth.

"Niklaus," Elijah says solemnly, "I hope you find peace, wherever you are."

Klaus glares at Kol, who looks like he's about to snicker. "Highly bloody unlikely."

"You've got that right," he replies under his breath. Caroline looks at him oddly, and Kol immediately straightens his face, because Rebekah's stepped up to the casket and her lower lip is trembling as she gently places her rose next to Elijah's.

"You were the only one who never left me, Nik," Kol hears his sister say quietly. "You promised you never would." Her breath catches, and she struggled to continue. Her teeth gnash at her lower lip, scraping off the pale lipstick she had sloppily put on that morning. "You're a liar," she rasps, "and I'll never forgive you. I love you, but I will never forgive you."

Klaus winces, but his face looks like it's set in stone. He says (like it's a revelation, a thought that never occurred to him or something), "I hate being dead."

Kol only smiles ruefully.

Caroline tilts her head to the side, her hair looking absolutely lovely, and seems to have decided on what to say. Fingering the rose she held, she says, "Klaus, you were really… something else." She lowers her eyes, her cheeks pinking slightly. "Thank you for your honesty."

That seems to have calmed his nerves down a touch.

Kol thinks it's weird enough that Klaus seems fine with all of this (you know, watching your own funeral with the brother you don't really get along with because your spirit is attached to him), but Klaus seems to be humming some sort of song under his breath when Kol steps up.

Okay, Kol admits that he's not the most _eloquent _of the bunch—hell, he'd never paid attention when Finn tried to shove all that new-age poetry at him—but he'd thought his brother would at least like to hear what he had to say.

Looking at his brother's indifference, he crumpled up the speech he had planned and flicked it right through Klaus's forehead. Klaus frowns, but quietens down.

Much better.

"My brother," he begins somewhat grandly, "you were, in the mildest of words, an arsehole."

Rebekah sniffs indignantly into her Kleenex, Caroline's eyes flit to him with that odd look in them again, but Elijah just stands back, looking kind of amused.

Kol doesn't look at Klaus' fuming face as he continues, "And if you're ever stuck in the land in between—or whatever—and decide to come back, I vehemently hope you're not an idiot about it and forego checking with the Big Man upstairs what you're supposed to do," he says, "and don't end up skulking around your own funeral or something stupid like that."

"If I had a _dagg_—" Klaus starts to threaten, but Kol just raises his voice and talks over him: "And I also hope you're not tormenting other spirits with your dagger threats, because they would surely stick one in you for all the things you've done to them over the centuries."

Rebekah doesn't look as scandalized now, and even Elijah can't hide his smile. Caroline's chuckling, her cheeks returning to their rosy hue, and Klaus sidesteps his anger to watch her with a sort of bemused expression on his face.

"I wish you well, Klaus," Kol says gravely (and excuses himself for his untimely pun), before adding with a bit of a rush, "and I'm sorry we had a fight the day before you died or something of the like, good bye."

Klaus' eyes are back on him like a sharp knife. "That's it?"

Rolling his eyes again, Kol adds, "And I'll make sure Elijah doesn't find all those drawings of Caroline you have hidden in the liquor cabinet."

The baby vampire gasps, and Klaus looks mildly offended—but he pulls his hands out of his pockets and nods curtly at his brother. "Better."

Elijah watches his youngest brother—his only brother—look to somewhere in the distance, saying, "I can't say I miss you though, not just yet."

As the wind picks up and as they make their way back to the mansion—Caroline making her way to her car—he could have sworn he heard Klaus laughing.

.

.

.

"So I stole Bekah's copy of _Vogue_," Kol holds it up to the morning light streaming through his window, "and there's this article here about this woman who still sees her dead husband everywhere."

Klaus glares. "Really, Kol? You're assessing my situation through a _women's magazine_?"

Kol continues as though there had been no interruption, "And then he comes to her in a dream and tells her the only reason he's back is because he has some unfinished business—"

"So I have to go creeping about in Elijah's dreams now? Apologize for all the times I used up his shaving cream?"

"—unfinished business being: all the things he didn't get to say to them in their ten years of marriage, because he was a cowardly faggot who didn't have the balls."

Klaus tries to snatch up the magazine but floats right through, of course. "It said that?"

"Nah." Kol stretches from his positing on his bed. "Reading this makes me feel castrated, so I made up some words. This magazine is atrocious." He turns back to his brother, who's lounging on the woven rug. "Although there _is_ this wicked picture of a mangled clown in here—I think it's supposed to be a model though…"

"Kol!"

"Fine." Kol flips through the pages, back to the real life stories section. "In other words, can you think of anything you wanted to do but didn't get the chance to?"

"Like throttling you two days before my untimely death?" Klaus sighs, joining his brother on the bed. "Unlikely, since I can't even touch you now."

Kol scowls. "You're not sinking through the bed anytime soon, are you Nik?"

"It's an inanimate object, Kol," Klaus says quietly.

"Let's start with Bekah," Kol says, changing the subject. "That whole 'I will never forgive you' at your funeral seems a little ominous, don't you think?"

"That happened _after_ my death, and after I came back. Obviously this bloody thing that's keeping me tethered here happened _before_ I died." Klaus springs from the bed, an angry expression on his face, and Kol knows if Klaus were still alive his punch to Kol's wall would have shaken the whole house. He turns back to Kol, teeth bared. "You're useless."

"And _you're_ ungrateful," Kol retorts. "I'm trying, alright? I don't like being around you just as much as you don't like being around me. You don't think it's not bothering me that I can still see my brother floating around the house when he's supposed to be dead?"

"I don't float," Klaus says stonily. "And I'd actually acknowledge your help if it didn't come from the same horseshit that promotes neon lipstick and trousers with holes in them."

Kol's ears prick up. "You read this?"

Klaus rolls his eyes but says, "It caught my eye while I was looking for the mangled clown."

.

.

.

Kol's rudely awoken from his sleep by something cold and icy flapping in and out of his face. He reaches blindly for his bedside lamp, and when the room is flooded with light, snarls: "What the f—_what is it_?"

"Took you long enough to wake up." Klaus withdraws his hand, a bored expression on his face. "I think I've figured out what's keeping me here."

.

.

.

"Remind me again why _I_ have to do this?" Kol snaps, hands shoved in his lightweight jacket. His breath comes up in great plumes around his face and he almost wishes the cold would numb his ears off—frankly, he's sick of hearing Klaus talk. It astounds him yet again how he had missed his brother _so_ much just a day after his death.

"You're the only one who can see me, or has that slipped your mind?" Klaus is standing next to him, eyes on the light that's shining through Caroline's window

"How can it, when you keep reminding me every time I try?" Kol retorts. "You can bugger off now, you've had me commit the plan to memory already."

"Just here to make sure you don't stray from the plan," Klaus says benignly. "I have a backup just in case."

"I can't very well have an intimate conversation about you with you hovering around me." He shoves Klaus but ends up stumbling—this new thing with Klaus' transparency hasn't drilled its way through his mind as a fact yet. "Can't let it get to your head."

"Kol," Klaus says in amazement, "I'm dead."

"So I've heard," Kol responds, feeling a migraine coming on. He makes his way to the side of Caroline's house and clambers easily onto her roof, groaning when he hears Klaus behind him. For a ghost, he hasn't mastered the art of creeping at _all_.

"What are you doing?" he hisses through his teeth, waving Klaus off like some bad smell. "I told you to leave!"

"My fate rests in your unreliable hands," Klaus says petulantly. "Forgive me for not trusting you."

"You're forgiven, now leave. _Shoo_. Undead being, off to the other side with you!" Kol flourishes his arms but Klaus stays put, throwing him a _You're ridiculous_ look.

Kol responds with a _You're a dick_ grimace and turns back to the window. "Now what, I just knock?"

"No!" Klaus splutters, wanting very much to throttle his brother. "You wait for an entrance. Have you not been listening?"

"I'm sorry if I don't make a habit of stalking baby vampires." Kol's getting tired of this really quickly. "Now what was this entrance you were talking about?"

"You listen for a sign that she's been talking about you, or notice how her lip quivers when she's sad, or how her fingers brush her hair out of her eyes, which reflect her emotions so transparently, by the w—"

"Whatever, anything useful in that gob of yours?" Kol snaps. "And why would she be thinking about me, anyway?"

Klaus sighs. "I clearly meant _me_."

"How very specific," Kol snorts. "And I would put your words to good use, if her curtains weren't closed."

"Then make a noise or something, draw her suspicions out!"

"I thought I was supposed to wait for an entrance?"

Klaus has murder in his eyes, and he's about to showcase some of his newfound ghostly talents when Caroline's curtains miraculously part and she pokes her head out, right through Klaus' shoulder.

"Seriously? An Original? On my roof?" she asks in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?" She wrinkles her nose, taking in his angry expression and how close to the edge he is. "…Talking to yourself. Are you trying to commit suicide on my roof or something? Bad move, buddy. I mean, I appreciate the poetry of the moment and all, but you didn't seem _too_ mentally disturbed at Klaus' funeral the other day—"

"Yes, about that." Kol steps forward, trying to ignore Klaus' goading look in his eyes. "You need to let me in."

Klaus slaps his palm to his forehead.

Caroline's eyes narrow. "Now why would I do that?"

Kol reaches into his pocket and pulls out an intricate bracelet; the streetlamps glinting off of it in Caroline's shocked eyes. "So I can give you this."

"Where'd you get that?" Klaus splutters, almost falling backwards.

"How'd you know about that?" Caroline splutters, stepping back from her window. Her hands grip her curtains like she's about to yank them closed, and Kol's shoulders fall.

"No, wait—" He pockets the bracelet again, Caroline's eyes following it the whole time. "I just—found it along with all those drawings he has of you."

"You're a bigger creep than your brother."

"I resent that," Kol says, watching Klaus peep into Caroline's closet and flop down on her bed out of the corner of his eye. "First of all, I would never rummage through your closet without your permission."

Caroline blinks. "Klaus did that?"

"That was _one_ time," Klaus snaps indignantly. "I was trying to look for a place to hide my drawing!"

"Just as I would never force myself into your house," Kol continues. "Well, just this once. To give you this." He dangles the bracelet in her face again.

Caroline sighs and draws back. "Come on in."

.

.

.

"So what's the history behind this?" Kol asks innocently once his feet are firmly planted in the room. He hands Caroline the bracelet and tries not to notice the way she cups it in her hands.

"Nothing worth explaining to you about," Caroline snaps, turning it over and over again in her hands as Klaus sighs unhappily from her bed.

"Touchy." Kol grins. And flops down on her bed, right on top of Klaus. "So how's life, sweet Caroline?"

She doesn't answer, so he looks to Klaus helplessly. The older (and dead-er) Original just shrugs, goading, "Go on, then. Like how we practiced."

_Like how we practiced,_ Kol mocks, turning back to Caroline, who finally realizes he's still in her bedroom.

"Why are you still here?" she asks. She places the bracelet in her jewellery box and closes the lid gently. "You did what you came to do."

Kol glances at Klaus, who hasn't faded away into oblivion or gone out in flames or whatever dramatic exit he'd thought up in his mind. Sighing inwardly, he makes his way to Caroline's vanity, fiddling with her perfume bottles and Polaroid photos. "Have I upset you, sweet?"

"That wasn't in the script." Klaus sits up immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. "Stick to the _script_, Kol."

Kol ignores his brother, shifting in his stance so he's eye to eye with the blonde. "You came to my brother's funeral. Why?"

("_The motherfu—_the _script, Kol._")

Caroline looks away, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Kol offers a devilish smile and takes her hand in his own. She keeps her wide eyes on his the whole of three seconds it takes for his lips to reach her skin.

"I'm Kol Mikaelson."

.

.

.

Again, Kol wakes up to Klaus slapping ice across his face.

"Useless—bloody—get the hell up, you son of a—" Klaus is snarling in between kicks aimed at the bed. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Kol sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You don't expect us to have a cozy little chat about you on our first meeting, do you? It's called breaking the ice."

"I'd like to break ice _over your skull_."

"Hey, I even got her to smile," Kol says with a taunting smile.

"At _my_ expense!" Klaus growls, burying his face in his hands. "_Why_ didn't whatever power above attach my spirit to Elijah? Even _Rebekah_ would be more help to me than you right now."

"Well, in that case," Kol grumbles, and hitches his covers back over his shoulders. "Good night, you ungrateful prat."

Klaus burrows himself inside his brother, who lets out an uncomfortable cry at the coldness. "Get up!"

"Fine!" Kol slams his lights on and throws himself out of bed. "What is it, brother? Why her? Of all people to keep you from crossing over, it's got to be her, the baby vampire."

Klaus frowns and turns where he is. "It appears I let myself get too attached to her when I was alive."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I never did find out how she felt about me."

Kol snorts, "Stop being insecure. She came to your funeral, that's feeling enough."

"Yes, but I'm still here!" If Kol hadn't been so sleepy he supposes he would have laughed at the sight of his older brother stamping his foot in frustration. "What does _that_ mean? It's clearly not enough."

"What _is _it about her that's got you moaning like a pansy?"

"I just don't _know_, Kol," Klaus groans, dropping his head in his hands. "You should have seen her the night of the ball, she was shining; effervescent. She's beautiful, and strong, and full of light. She makes my head spin."

Kol snorts. Such a child.

If he hadn't been so sleepy, he supposes he would have found it ironic, their reversal of roles.

.

.

.

"I've got this covered, brother," Kol mutters from the corner of his mouth. (He's mastered the art of talking under his breath so people don't think he's insane or something.) "You can leave now."

Klaus isn't amused. "You're going to mess this up."

"Do you want me to? Because I will, if you keep hovering."

"Very well," Klaus says heavily, cursing his luck once again. "But I'll be right at that booth over there. Listening intently. _Very_ intently."

"Wouldn't expect any less of you." Kol says over his shoulder as he makes his way through the crowd towards the bar.

"You again," Caroline says flatly when Kol appears beside her. "Come to regale me with more tales of Klaus' unfortunate werewolf transformations?"

"Well, there was this one time Elijah forgot to bring a change of clothes for him—" he can feel Klaus bearing holes in the back of his head, "—but let's leave that for another time."

His eyes drop to the gin in front of her. "Drinking at noon?"

"None of your business."

Kol lets out an inaudible breath and rolls his eyes heavenwards—oh Klaus, you are an idiot. "Mind if I join you?"

"What if I said no?"

He drags a stool nearer. "Wouldn't stop me."

Caroline keeps the smile off her lips as she nudges his drink towards him. He picks it up without a second thought.

"So what's our topic of discussion of the day?"

Kol smirks, lowering the now-empty glass. "You, of course."

.

.

.

Klaus has to admit (although rather begrudgingly) that Kol's doing a good job.

So far, anyway. He's managed to get Caroline drunk off her stool, blurting out her life story and long list of exes at an alarming rate. He does wonder why Caroline would allow herself to get so inebriated around Kol, but not him. _Never_ him.

"Did you know?" Caroline raises a shaky finger, her hair falling into her eyes, "that my mother has _never_ gone to one of my cheer competitions? Not once—not ever."

"Our father's never gone hunting with Nik," Kol says blandly.

"Like, the only time I ever remember her asking about school is in…" She squints, and along with it comes that adorable (wait, what?) head tilt. "August. Yeah. When she asks me—_get this—_when school's starting again."

Kol takes a sip of his rum and Coke. "Our father travelled all the way to Africa once. He came back with homemade elephant-hide gloves for us, but he conveniently forgot Nik."

"God," Caroline slurs, both elbows on the counter, propping up her cheeks like a child. "Why do you keep mentioning Klaus? It's like… you ask me something, then you relate it to Klaus. I didn't know Klaus' favourite colour as a kid was pink. Did they even _have_ pink back then?"

"The sky at dawn. Nik's favourite time of day."

Klaus leans forward in his seat, eyebrows fusing together quizzically. How the ruddy hell did Kol know that?

"Huh." Caroline runs her finger across the rim of her fourth glass of gin. "I always pegged him for a midnight guy—sneaking up on grandmas and stealing candy from babies."

"Oh, Finn's always the sneaking kind. Made him a good pirate."

"What about you?" Caroline asks, sipping her drink. She's barely holding herself up now. "What's your talent thingamajig?"

"Annoying Nik." He shrugs, eyes on the far corner of the bar. "Keeping Bekah company. We're the youngest, so naturally we end up with each other most of the time."

"I wouldn't know. I'm an only child." Her eyes turn glassy. "Dad and Steven were going to adopt a girl. But then…" She sighs, shaking her head. "I've always wanted a baby sister."

Kol makes a face. "Eh, they're not that grand."

Klaus steps up between them. "I think you've done enough for the night. Let's go."

"But she's utterly pissed at the moment," Kol says, waving her way. Caroline doesn't seem to notice him talking.

"Let's go," Klaus says with unusual gentleness, and Kol just nods curtly, tossing some bills on the counter to cover his and Caroline's drinks. He's gone in a flash, but Klaus lingers.

"You know what they say." Caroline shrugs at Kol's retreating back. "You always want what you can't have."

"Don't I know it," Klaus says as his hand goes straight through her curls.

.

.

.

**part two up whenever the hell i feel like it.**


	2. very

**I basically rewrote the whole of part two on account of the fact that it was utter shit when I reread it – when I wrote the first time it was hitting 3am, so maybe that was why. Oh well. Hope this version doesn't suck, at least?**

**AND I _KNOW_ I SAID THIS WAS A TWOSHOT, but as I was rewriting it got too long—_again_—and I had to break it up—_again_—but I promise you (_again_), the next (AND LAST!) chapter will be up very very soon, as soon as I get some sleep and get a chance to reread/reedit because my mind is fried rn.**

.

.

.

**hello again, friend of a friend**

**deux**

.

.

.

Kol used to think that people were born with certain quotas: that their bodies were already programmed with the number of people they'd sleep with, how many shots of tequila it would take to get them completely inebriated, the number of countries they travel to. Since his vampiring however, he's decided that this epiphany is, simply put, a load of shit—until he wakes up one Sunday morning and realizes he's completely reached his quota of humouring Klaus.

"No," he snaps into his pillow, covers wrapped firmly around him. "Not a chance in hell."

"But _Kol_—" Klaus looks close to tearing his own hair out, "—I'm going to be stuck here. Forever—"

"It cripples me to hear that," Kol replies, eyes still screwed shut, "_now go away_."

"—an eternity with you."

Grumbling the whole way, Kol drags himself out of bed and shrugs on the first sweater he sees, throwing a curse or two at his already-cursed-enough-thank-you-very-much brother. "When you cross over," Kol declares as he sucks his breakfast from the throat of an unsuspecting commoner in the shadows of an alleyway, "I hope an eternity of damnation awaits you."

Klaus picks an imaginary lint off his sleeve. "Couldn't be worse than watching you guzzle this human."

Kol folds back his upper lip to reveal a fang and kicks the overweight human aside, too frustrated by Klaus to think about killing him. The grass crunches with every step (stamp) he takes and the sky's a doomed shade of grey that he wants to shake his head (fist) at, because Klaus is always particularly worked up about Caroline on days like these.

Useless dead-but-just-won't-die vampires and their equally as useless infatuations.

And when he swoops into the baby vampire's bedroom she has the _galls_ to not be in there—it's eight on a Sunday morning, where in the world could she (or anyone for that matter) be if not still in bed?

_He _should still be in bed, he fumes, swiping at her lace curtains as it flits delicately across his face.

"She's not here," he says stonily to Klaus, "I'm going home."

Klaus holds out a menacing arm to stop him. "I don't think so. I suggest you go look for her."

"Don't you have some ghostly power for that?" Kol touches down from the roof with a grunt, "Call upon the spirits beyond to help you locate a blonde who doesn't want to be found by you?"

"Ghost GPS doesn't work on the damned," Klaus explains wearily, looking eerily like Mary Poppins as he floats down from the roof.

Kol's eyebrows fuse together in confusion. "GPS?"

"Never you mind," Klaus growls. "Just go find her."

And so Kol does, but not without swinging a sapling futilely into his brother for good measure.

.

.

.

When Kol finally does find her—behind her _house_, the last place he'd thought to look despite his superior vampire sleuthing skills—she's in a paint-splattered work shirt, her hair done up in plaits.

"_What_ are you doing?" he asks, hands thrown heavenwards as though she owed it in the weight of the world to explain it to him.

"Painting," Caroline snaps back, equally as exasperated by his presence. "Or did you completely miss this turn of the century creation in your gig being daggered?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he bites out, "I thought you'd be in bed."

"And I thought you'd actually have the courtesy to _ask for permission _before barging into my bedroom," she says back, spreading buttercup-yellow paint across the panels of her house. "Guess not."

Kol mutters wordlessly (murderously) at her turned back, and contemplates hurling her off a cliff into a pit of werewolves to save him the trouble—also doing Klaus a favour at the same time, if he thinks about it in a tragic, star-crossed lovers kind of way—but is too dumbfounded by his brother's reaction to Caroline painting to let his fantasies play out.

"Isn't she stunning?" Klaus asks again, that same smile on his face from that fateful night at the bar. "The colour complements her skin so well."

"Oh, _shut up_," he snaps at (to what Caroline presumes to be) the air, and flashes to where Caroline is to grab a stray paintbrush. "Give me that," he says irritably. "Not _courteous _of me to let a pretty little thing like you do commoner work." He adds under his breath, "no matter how sharp your tongue might be."

Caroline rolls her eyes. "I don't need your help."

"Clearly," he says pointedly, gesturing at the uneven strokes. "Nik told me you were meticulous—"

"And she is!" Klaus insists from his spot a few feet away from them.

"—doesn't seem that way to me."

"I've got a lot on my mind, alright?" She brandishes her paintbrush at him, unwittingly splattering paint on both of them. "And if you've got a problem with the way I do things, that's your damn problem. I didn't ask you to stay."

"Defuse the situation, Kol," Klaus drawls, stepping closer. "I'm not wasting another day listening to you two bicker instead of finding a way to free me."

Kol glares back, _No._

Klaus raises a threatening eyebrow.

Kol brandishes the air with the paintbrush violently.

Caroline tilts her head to the side.

Klaus' lips quirk in the slightest as he says smoothly, "I could compel Damon Salvatore to _come over_ more often."

"Sorry," Kol practically spits out, stabbing the paintbrush into the paint can. "I'd like to stay. And help."

Klaus steps closer menacingly.

"With the most amiable of manners," Kol adds unnecessarily, and Klaus backs away and laens into the tree to admire Caroline better.

Aforementioned Caroline sighs resignedly and brushes her hair out of her eyes, smearing paint across her cheeks in the process. "Not that I could compel you to leave, or anything."

.

.

.

"Why must you insist," Kol begins as he gives Caroline a leg up, "on subjecting yourself to physical labour when you can just compel lesser beings to do it for you?"

"Sounds like someone's never had a hard day in his life," Caroline sings out as she dabs the finishing touches around the roof shingles.

"I've had several hard days," Kol counters. "Try being daggered for a few centuries and being stuffed in a coffin. My joints were stiffer than Nik's pe—"

"Kol!" Klaus thunders.

"—personality," Kol finishes somewhat lamely.

"Mm," Caroline says, indifferent. "Another few inches, Young Werther."

Kol hoists her up higher and mutters into the back of her calves, "Let me assure you my pains weigh greater than his."

"How so?" she asks with hesitant curiosity. "You've obviously never struggled for something a day in your life—"

"Pushing Rebekah to hurry up with her showers in the morning is a great feat," Kol interjects, and Klaus snorts.

"—and all I ever see you do is shoot pool and get drunk at the Grille," she continues, biting her lower lip as she strains to reach the crevices of her house with her paintbrush.

"You've been watching me?" Kol asks, wary.

"Don't flatter yourself," she says sardonically. "I was just wondering why someone so high and mighty like yourself would choose to mingle with the _commoners_."

"I get bored," is all he says. "I'm sure you know the feeling."

"And I'm bored right now," Klaus announces. "Hurry it up, why don't you?"

The look Kol shoots at his brother reeks of_ Shut the hell up, why don't you?_

"Stop lumping us together." Caroline grasps the edge of her roof to steady herself. "I think we're done here."

Kol frowns at the unfinished paintjob. "But we're not even halfway done—"

"Trust me, we are." She rounds up her paints and straightens up to look him in the eye. "Wouldn't want you to get bored of little old me."

She's back in her house before Klaus is even done smacking his forehead against the freshly-painted house.

.

.

.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," Rebekah says one night as they're watching yet another movie (she'd recently discovered a pile of Audrey Hepburn movies in Stefan's DVD collection and was skeptical of how he could idolize her so much, hence the marathons). She looks at him from the corner of her eye and says stiffly, "I miss you."

"Oh Bekah," he sighs, turning off the television just as Holly Golightly says on screen, _We don't belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us_. "Who is it now?"

"What makes you think I only seek you out when something goes wrong in my life?" she bites out, nudging an inch or two away from him like a wounded puppy. Tail between her legs.

"Is it Damon?" he asks without skipping a beat. "Or that other Salvatore boy?"

("The one who killed our brother?" he doesn't mention.)

Rebekah looks like she's about to put up a front, but then crumples. "Both."

Slowly, reluctantly, he opens up his arms and his baby sister curls into them, sniffing: "I thought I'd be used to it the second time around, being kicked to the curb for that doppelganger wench. But it still hurts."

Kol says nothing, just strokes her hair like he's seen Klaus do before. He was always the better one when it came to these things.

Very quietly, she says, "I wish Nik were here."

Kol looks up at Klaus, a statue across the room. Their eyes meet, and he says (a little regretfully), "Me too, Bekah."

.

.

.

"I can't do this anymore," Kol moans, pillow over his face. "I don't know how to bring you up in conversation. I don't know how to _make_ her tell me how she feels for you."

Klaus responds by walking through Kol's bed, which causes the younger Original to slam the pillow at him. Of course it goes right through his head and ends up knocking over his lamp instead. "I'm not doing it," Kol insists when all Klaus does is send chills throughout the room. "You can't make me."

It appears Klaus has mastered the art of fading in and out. He disappears for a second—Kol feels immense relief—but looms up right in front of him. "Fine. Stay tethered to me forever. I will haunt your every dream and make it my duty to ensure that you always look over your shoulder in fear and anxiety everywhere you go."

Kol groans, sounding depressed. "I hate you."

"Thin lines and all that, Kol."

.

.

.

"You're here again," Caroline comments as she enters her bedroom. Kol's sitting on her windowsill, a pensive look on his face. He runs his eyes over her sleep-ready face—so pure for an existence so tainted—and asks, "Are my visits bothering you?"

Caroline pulls back her bedcovers and tucks her feet in. "Yes. It's a school night, and…" she squints at her alarm clock, "three minutes past my bedtime."

"I don't have a curfew," Kol says smugly, folding himself into her armchair. "And I don't see why you should too. We're immortal, after all."

Caroline rolls over in her bed, her back to him. "You forgot the crucial part of living forever—_living_."

"I still don't see why you insist on playing by the rules so much, though."

She pokes her head out of her pillows, mouth parting in disbelief. "It's because I care, and that's where we draw the line at our similarities."

"What make you th—"

"You're angry all the time because you have nothing to look forward to, nothing to give a shit about. That's because you don't have much of anything going on," she snaps. "I'm still head cheerleader, still Student Body President, and there's still Prom to organize and bake sales to run. I still have my humanity. What do you have, Kol? What is there to look forward to for _you_?"

Kol blinks, stung. He contemplates snapping her neck—Klaus would probably find a way to snap his later, though. So he grits his teeth, shoves his whitened knuckles in his pockets, and unfolds himself from the armchair.

Caroline's glare never falters.

Despite Klaus' warning shake of his head, Kol slips out the window.

.

.

.

"Fix this," Klaus says through his teeth, floating through the bathroom wall without as much as a warning—_rude, _Kol thinks as he brushes his teeth_—_and leans against the glass door of the shower.

"There's nothing to fix." Kol leans down and spits out his toothpaste. "The girl you fancy has issues, and there's nothing I can do about that." He picks up his razor, muttering murderously, "_Such_ issues."

"Just because you're not accustomed to people calling you out on yours—"

"And you are?" Kol bursts out savagely. "Where's the Klaus I remember? The one who tears out throats at the slightest discrepancy? The Klaus who didn't even hesitate to plunge a dagger into my heart? Your own brother!" He whips the razor against the wall, where it shatters to pieces. "You're going through such trouble for a mere vampire who doesn't even hold a candle to what we are. Sounds a lot of the Nik I once knew."

Klaus just looks at his brother, his head tilted in a way that reminds him of Caroline. "When did you grow up, Kol?"

Kol doesn't answer, just wipes off some toothpaste from his chin and slings his towel over his shoulder.

"You still have so much to learn, though," Klaus says, following him (of course).

"That's what school is for," Kol says, tearing through his wardrobe. _Something to look forward to_, he thinks darkly. Stupid naïve baby vampire. He'll show her—

"School?" Klaus repeats blankly.

Kol jams his head through a sweater, exasperated. "_Yes_, school. So many important things to learn. Bake sales and all that."

"Oh." Klaus blinks, and then looks pleased. "So you're actually going to follow through with something for once?"

"Like you said, Nik." Kol grabs his car keys and heads for the door. "We're all growing up."

.

.

.

"Sweet baby Jesus," he hears her groan. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Kol raises his Calculus textbook pointedly. "Studying for our end of year exams."

"No, I meant—" Her eyes trail to his open bag—crammed with new textbooks—and his school-approved sweater (a far cry from all his leather jackets) down to his 2B pencil. "No way."

"Looks like we have all the same classes, Caroline." He grins up at her, brandishing his schedule. "Except gym. What a shame. I would have liked to see you in those school-appointed gym shorts."

Caroline snatches him by his collar and holds his face close to hers. "What the hell do you want, Kol?"

Kol doesn't shy away; in fact, he leans closer, so close he can actually count her individual eyelashes.

Caroline gulps.

Not so tough now.

"I thought it was time I educate myself," he says in a whisper, his cold breath ghosting her cheeks. "Since I'm apparently missing out on _so_ much life has to offer." He snakes his hands up to untangle her fingers from his shirt, but doesn't let go immediately. "Such soft hands."

Caroline wrenches her hands out of his and crams them to her sides. "Well then," she says through stiff lips. "Prom Committee meeting at the Grille later at 6:30. Don't be late."

He chuckles, turning back to his homework. "Wouldn't dream of it, love."

.

.

.

Kol opens his bedroom door to find Klaus reading another one of Rebekah's _Vogue_ issues. Setting down his bag, he asks, "You can touch things now?"

His brother shrugs. "Only if I concentrate hard."

Kol makes his way towards him, hand outstretched uncertainly. Again, it goes right through Klaus. "Not people, though?"

"No, not people." Klaus sighs and casts the magazine aside. "Did you see Caroline today?"

"No such luck, brother."

Klaus nods, only looking slightly disappointed.

Kol lets out an unnecessary breath.

.

.

.

"My _point_ is, life moves on!" Caroline waves her mug around, slopping beer all over the counter, but no one seems to care. "No use crying over milled spilk and all that."

"Hear, hear," he smirks, raising his own bottle.

"Kol?" She turns away from the bar, where some boys he vaguely remembers from his day at school are in rapt attention of her. "You came. And you're actually early," she laughed, a silver tinkle.

"I like to make a good impression." He walks towards her, and casts a hard glance at the boys falling all over themselves to buy her drinks. They scatter under his scrutiny.

Caroline claps a hand to her mouth. "Where'd my friends go?"

"Tending to spilled milk, no doubt." He flashes a grin. "I thought we were discussing prom?"

"Wha—? Oh. Yeah. Prom." Caroline leans heavily against the counter, finger tapping against her coral lips. "Well," she leans in conspiratorially, and Kol leans in as well, trying to hold in his laughter. "Matt broke his foot at football practice. Or arm. I'm not too sure. Just glad it's not his neck. So they're all checking up on him at the hospital. Someone had to wait for you to tell you today's meeting is so, so, dunzo."

This catches Kol's interest. "You were waiting for me?"

"Again with the self-flattery!" She slaps her palm against his chest and he feels a twinge of a smile coming on. "Nobody likes to be the one left behind."

He briefly thinks of Klaus, but pushes him out of his mind. He deserves a break after three incessant weeks of his brother pestering him, after all. "What else don't you like?"

"Hm." She closes her eyes, and stays silent for so long Kol wonders if she's fallen asleep. This girl really can't handle her liquor. He looks at the bartender, no doubt compelled.

She opens her eyes again, and they're surprisingly clear. Azure blue, he realizes. Like the sky at first light.

But then she had to open her mouth. "I don't like you."

Scowling, he reclines slightly. "And why not?"

"You keep bringing up Klaus." She grabs some passer by's tequila and he watches as she throws it back. "I don't like to be reminded of him."

"And why not?" he asks again, his jaw clenching. Anticipating.

She sighs sorrowfully and tries to sit down on her stool, but ends up stumbling against him instead. "He makes me drink _way _too much."

"He's not here, Caroline."

She looks up at him, and he realizes he has his arms around the small of her back. And she's warm for a vampire. Delightfully so. "What?"

"He's gone, dead and gone," he says.

"But I still feel him." She looks away, biting her lips. "Like he's still around, or something—" She traces a light finger down his chest. "Right here."

He looks down to where she's pointing—his heart—trails his eyes back to hers.

And promptly lets go of her.

.

.

.

"Urgh, how many times do I have to say—she _said_, and I quote, for the absolute last time: _Like he's still around, or something, right here_," he mimics her voice, three octaves too high, and pokes his brother through the chest. "There you have it. Now you know. You fancy her, she fancies you. Rejoice." Kol turns away from him and stares out of the window at the setting sun. "Now leave me alone."

"She said that?" His brother looks dazed. He trails his own hand down his chest, gazing at the ceiling with that faraway look on his face. But then—"You complete arse, Kol."

"What is it _now_?" he groans, wishing the bed would just swallow him whole. "I did what you told me to do. Why are you still here?"

Klaus appears before him, murder in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were going?"

"Forgive me for wanting a minute to myself," Kol snarks, shoving himself away from his bed and out the door, slamming the door shut behind him. Klaus zaps up to where he is, arms crossed petulantly over his chest.

"Planning on seeing Caroline without me?" He stops directly in Kol's path. "Again?"

"No, I'm getting a snack. Or do I need supervision for that?" He flips on the light in the kitchen and rummages through the fridge—mostly for decoration purposes—before remembering they didn't have any blood bags. But he hadn't thought about human blood in ages it seems, how stra—

"Kol?"

He looks up to see Elijah leaning against the doorframe. "Is Rebekah here?"

"No," he sighs, closing the refrigerator door. "Why?"

Elijah stares at Kol. "I thought I heard noises. Who were you talking to?"

Glaring at Klaus—who scowls back, but fades away anyway—he says, "Nobody."

.

.

.

Caroline doesn't leave her window closed anymore, Kol notices, as he scrapes the edge of his shoe on her rooftop. Klaus is beside him, blowing out his breaths like halos—"Fascinating, isn't it?" Klaus smirks when he sees how entranced Kol is—and asking, yet again, "Do you know what you're su—"

"_Yes,_" he whispers straight through his teeth. "Must you still be here?"

"Like I said, just in case."

"I'm not going to screw this up, Nik" Kol says for the three hundred and twelfth time. "When have I messed this up?"

Klaus gives his brother a pointed look. "Do you want it in a list, or do you prefer columns?"

"Look," Kol says, letting his hand hover where Klaus' shoulder more-or-less is. "Why don't you scurry your ghostly self home, and if you find yourself fading into oblivion, it means I've done something right."

Klaus plunges an icy hand into Kol's chest. "Why don't I dagger you into oblivion?"

"Nik," he commands, "shut up. In case you haven't realized, Caroline seems to be in more of a telling mood when you aren't around."

Klaus seems to mull this over. "Alright." He steps closer so they're chest to chest. "But I expect full disclosure when you get back."

"Of course," Kol says, pleased to have won a round. "Off with you."

Throwing him a dirty look, Klaus turns on his heel and disappears.

"Evening," he greets as he ducked into her window.

Caroline whips around, a tiny shriek escaping her pink lips as her hand automatically assaults him with the book she'd been holding. He'd expected her to be at her table, studying for their impending finals—neurotic as she is—and so wasn't ready for the attack.

The book hits him squarely in the face.

"Jeez," her hands are clapped to her chest. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"A _sorry I whacked you in the face with this_—" he squints at the book title, "—what is this… absurd – anyway, as I was saying. An apology is in order."

"Fine, whatever," Caroline says with a roll of her eyes. "Sorry. Now gimme that."

"Gladly," he says, tossing the book to her. "_Goblet of Fire,_" he pffts. "Ominous."

She holds the book to her chest, looking scandalized. "There is nothing _absurd_ about Harry Potter!"

"Come again?" he asks blankly.

"Harry Potter?" Caroline repeats. "Daniel Radcliffe? Emma Watson?"

Kol stares at her.

"Rupert _Grint_?"

"Is that a disease?"

Caroline's hands find a way to her hips. "You've got to be kidding me. You're English and you've never heard of Harry Potter?"

"Now you're just stereotyping, sweetheart," he grumbles, falling across her bed, taking the book with her. He flips through the book with thinly veiled disinterest. "Witches and warlocks. Doesn't surprise me in the least."

"Nuh uh," she snatches her book back. "You don't get a say in this until you've read the whole thing."

"And what do you suggest?" he glares. "Read the whole thing?"

"Yep!" she corrects cheerfully, turning to her closet where the books are stacked on a shelf. "We'll start with the Sorcerer's Stone—"

Kol throws his hands up. "Joy."

"—and then the Chamber of Secrets—"

"Are you sure these books aren't child pornography?"

"—until you realize what exactly you're missing out on in life," Caroline says with an air of finality, hands filled with the gradually thickening books.

Kol sighs, holding out a hand. "Just these, then?"

She nudges him aside with her knee, and settles down next to him. "And the movies, too."

"This should be fun. Seven movies in one night."

"Eight, actually." She licks the tip of her finger and flips to the first page. "They cut the last one in two parts."

"Not like I have anything to look forward to," Kol mutters, rubbing his temples. "Alright, let's get on it. But if these books veer towards pedophilia like those horrendous Twilight in the _slightest_—"

He finds his mouth covered by Caroline's soft palm, an annoyed look on her head. "How can you not have heard about Harry Potter but know about Twilight? I thought guys dig Emma Watson—she's like, way hotter than Bella." She leans closer, licking her lips in the brevity of the situation, "And if you're planning on staying, I suggest you shut the hell up and listen. Am I being clear?"

Unable to say a word, Kol just nods.

The air around them is filled with the smell of the yellowed pages and her lilac shampoo as she begins, in a surprisingly un-Caroline-like voice, "Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived."

Kol snorts, "Sounds like it should be tagged onto the Cullen boy."

At Caroline's murderous look, he falls silent. She continues, "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."

.

.

.

"Give me that, you're far too slow," Kol gripes, snatching away the book. He scans the page with urgency and his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "Why the bloody hell would Lord No Nose kill Snape?"

"Because he thought that the Elder wand like, belonged to him or something," explains a delighted, but steadily sleepy Caroline. She rests her head against her pillow, her hair brushing against Kol's shoulder. "Keep reading. You're so going to cry."

"Yes," Kol says, skimming over the parts where Snape clutches at Harry's robes, "tears of joy when this is over."

"Mm, sure." Caroline's eyes close, but when no sound comes from Kol, they open again. "Well? Aren't you going to read?"

Kol sighs and backtracks, reading hastily, "'From the tip of his wand burst a silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded across the offi—"

"Properly," Caroline whines, thumping him with her fist. She frowns and leans further into him, trying to catch a glimpse of the page. "You're making this feel like homework, there's no inflection in your voice at _all_."

Rolling his eyes, he says nothing, just hitches the book away from her (she practically plants herself on his lap to claw it back under her nose). "Fine, I'll read properly, just—just get off of me."

"With _feeling_," she warns, settling comfortably by his side, chin on his shoulder. His shoulder hums.

"As you wish," he says wearily instead. Clearing his throat, he reads (with _feeling_), "'She landed on the office floor, across the office, and soared out the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears." He pauses, glancing at Caroline - she's hanging on to his every word, heavy on his side, biting her lower lip in anticipation. He clears his suddenly-dry throat. "'"After all this time?"'"

"Always," Caroline whispers, and promptly falls asleep.

Kol's finger lingers on the page, unsure of what to do.

.

.

.


	3. untimely

**A/N: **All my Klaroline feels came back full force and I almost didn't write this the way I planned to. Not that I had planned it extensively or anything.

FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH CHEESY GOODNESS. Ye have been warned.

.

.

.

**hello again, friend of a friend**

**trois**

.

.

.

_how very untimely_

_._

.

.

"This is stupid."

"You're not even giving it a chance."

"Give a chance to what, earwax-flavoured sweets?"

"That is _so_ not the point of thi—"

"Why the hell would I want to bite into a piece of chocolate that _hops_."

"Were you even paying attention to—"

"And since when do witches need _wands_?" Kol splutters, waving an imaginary stick at the laptop screen mockingly. "I feel the need to eavesdrop on their conversation—better transform into a beetle! _Accio_! Oh look, the book lying three feet away that I _so direly need_ is instantly in my hands!—" He points his 'wand' at her lamp, "—_Blasphemous curse_! You die now!" He snorts derisively. "What if you lose those sticks? Or they snap? Then what? They become useless, that's what."

"Just—just shut up and keep watching."

.

.

.

"What a surprise. Nobody believes that poor orphan boy."

"'That poor orphan boy' has a name, Kol. _Harry_."

"Who?"

"Harry _Potter_."

"Come again?"

"Ha—Harry Potter! The main character whose book is named after? _The person we've been watching the past five movies?"_

"..."

"...The guy you said had a chicken wing scraped on his forehead."

_"That's_ Harry Potter?"

"Are you sure you read the books?"

.

.

.

"That is not how it bloody happens!" Kol rages, flinging popcorn kernels at the laptop screen. "The Death Eaters don't _twirl_."

Caroline groans exasperatedly after her failed attempts of trying to suffocate herself with her pillow. "The Burrow burned down which totally did _not_ happen in the book, and you complain about _that_?"

.

.

.

"That was absolute rubbish. I'm not subjecting myself to this torture any longer." Kol slams the laptop close, effectively cutting off Half Blood Prince.

"But—but you liked the books!" Caroline blurts out, flipping open her laptop and pressing play. "And look, Emma Watson!" She grabs the back of his head and pushes it towards the screen. "Prettyyyy…"

"I can't tell the difference between her and that Hagrid bloke with all that hair," he says, brushing Caroline's hand aside.

She looks put out, and slumps back against her pillow with a pout on her face. "She's supposed to be quietly beautiful," she mumbles. She tries again (though a little defeated), "There has to be _something_ you liked?"

He leans back against her headboard, frowning. He's silent for so long that Caroline's beginning to think she's wasted eight hours trying to turn him into a Potterhead. She's about to pick at his extremely horrible taste (in _everything_), when he finally speaks up.

"The… headless ghost. Nick. He intrigued me," he admits. "He chose to stay behind where so many people move on. I just wondered why."

Caroline bites her bottom lip.

.

.

.

"Do you miss him?" Kol asks, and Caroline jumps at his sharp tone. On screen, Harry is in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, looking lost and defeated. "Do you?"

"I..." Caroline trails off, shifting slightly to the left she isn't resting against his shoulder anymore. "I don't know. I can't miss him, because of all the things he's done."

"But you do."

She just shrugs, eyes flitting to the screen, fingers playing with the edge of the empty bowl of popcorn.

"He fancies you, you know," Kol says offhandedly.

"Fancied, you mean."

"Right," Kol agrees quickly, gaze shifting back to the laptop screen. "That's what I said."

"Do you?"

"He's my brother," Kol says deliberately. He glances at Caroline, who's giving him an encouraging smile. He lets out a quiet groan, staring up at her ceiling. "The day before he died, we had a row."

Caroline's eyebrows crinkled together. "Row?"

"All these books and you still haven't picked up British English?" Kol offers a teasing smile, though it's fleeting. "A fight," he corrects himself. "He said he should have let Esther kill me, since all I do is waste my life away, begging him to get pissed at the bar."

Caroline rests a light hand on his arm. He doesn't shake it off.

"You know what's funny?" Smiling ruefully, he fixes his eyes on the shadows in the corner of her ceiling. "My life is a broken record strewn atop a pedestal I built myself. I have all the time in the world, and I don't know what to do with it. He's right."

Her nails press into his skin. "Kol—"

"The first thing I did when I learned of Esther's plan to kill us was to run to my room. The first thought I had was how I haven't even done what I was born to do. I haven't lived yet." He laughs lightly. "Pathetic, isn't it? When Stefan stabbed my brother, he didn't even close his eyes."

"_I am about to die_," Harry says, and puts forward a resolute step.

.

.

.

"That's not how he's supposed to die," Kol remarks in a soft voice, Caroline curled up beside him. He'd been strangely quiet for the last two movies. "He's not supposed to turn to ash."

"It's totally cool effects, though," Caroline argues, gesturing at the screen. "He's gasping and choking and suddenly—gone with the wind." She blows into his ear. "Whoosh."

He places a hand on the side of her face and pushes her away, not as roughly as he would have done a week ago. "The film missed the point of the books."

Caroline frowns. "In the books, he just drops to the ground. Nothing special."

"That's the point!" He leans over her to reach for the book, flipping through the pages until he finds the part he's looking for. "' And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward.'" He sets the book down and turns to Caroline. "He dies a normal death. A mortal death. There's nothing remarkable or fearsome about him in the end." He smirks, flicking a curl from her face, "Nothing special."

Instead of getting angry at being mocked, Caroline sort of sits back and blinks a few times. Then she looks at him, lips quirked upwards, head tilted ever so slightly.

"That's something to think about," she says genially, but Kol isn't sure what exactly she means.

.

.

.

Kol bounds into the kitchen. "Elijah!"

Elijah looks up from the pot he's stirring—

"Elena likes chilli," he had explained, but Kol lets it slide because a) it's Elijah, and he has many eccentricities like making chilli and making friends with human girls and making chilli for human girls, and b) there are more pressing matters at hand.

—and stares at the manic expression in his brother's eyes.

"I need to know everything about Facebook," he demands (because Elijah's been undaggered the longest and he's bound to know at least _something_) while Klaus flits in and out of the wall, looking puzzled, and doesn't stop pestering the eldest Original until he takes off his flowered apron and lets Kol drag him to the computer.

After many taunting suggestions from Rebekah, patient explanations from Elijah and many bottles of Black Label Jack Daniels later, he finally manages to click into Caroline Forbes' profile.

"Great idea, Kol," Klaus smiles looking impressed, thumping on his brother's back. Klaus comments (but none too inappropriately) on the pictures of Caroline in her cheerleading uniform, but Kol barely notices, busy clicking through her interests and info.

The cursor—("But this looks _nothing_ like a mouse!" he had whined, knocking it against the wall)—freezes over Caroline's newly added interest: _Being read to_.

Slumping back in his chair, he blinks in amazement. This girl, he realizes, is starting to become a dull, omnipresent ache in his chest.

He looks at Klaus' content face, then back to the picture of her smiling face, absolutely glowing in the sun. He's starting to see why.

.

.

.

Caroline catches up to him after Calculus the next day, which is odd, since if anyone's doing any catching-ups it's usually him. "Is there something you need?" he questions, voice saccharine, but she rolls her eyes and pushes his jacket onto his chest.

"You left this in my room," she explains (without a trace of anything, he realizes after a moment of scrutiny), and he just stares at her, feeling rather, well… stupid.

"Oh." He can't think of a single thing to say.

She's looking back at him strangely. "Is there something on my face?"

He reaches a hand out to brush away a stray lock of hair, and she nearly retreats in surprise.

"There," he says softly. "All better."

.

.

.

Klaus looks over Kol's shoulder and rolls his eyes. "That's not how you find the second derivative, Kol."

"Piss off," Kol grumbles, and swipes his hand through Klaus' face. "Calculus should not be this hard."

"So give up." Klaus flings his arms out as he falls back against Kol's bed. "That's what you do best."

Kol grips his pencil so hard it snaps in half.

.

.

.

"So I was thinking," Caroline announces as he's fumbling with his locker code. "I want to start on the Hunger Games. Dark and twisty; totally your style."

"I'm dark and twisty?" he asks absently, cursing his locker combination inwardly.

Caroline beams. "Yep!"

He lets out a sharp breath of frustration and slams his fist into his locker. It finally creaks open, severely dented. "Good luck with that."

The baby vampire's smile falters. "Aren't you... going to watch with me? Also, I could use a reading buddy. I'll even let you choose the snacks this time—but I draw the line at Marmite."

"I'm not particularly interested in being your anything, really." Kol slams the locker door shut. He expects it to drop to the linoleum floor, but it just hangs there instead, looking kind of pathetic. He slings his bag over his shoulder and makes his way down the hall, where, predictably, Caroline follows.

Interesting, this new turn of events.

"Kol," Caroline calls out. He hears the rush of her footsteps as she catches up to him, the beginnings of a frown dawning on her face. "Dude, what's with the 'tude?"

"For a girl permanently on honour roll," he says as he tugs his hand out of her grip, "you can be remarkably daft."

"Hey, wait." She dashes in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "What's going on? Look, I totally didn't mean what I said about you being a heathen; but who doesn't like Marie Antoinette?"

"Apparently I don't. Now if you'll excuse me," he says curtly, "I have somewhere else I'd rather be."

Caroline lets him pass this time, her hand reaching out for his, but at the last moment thinking better of it. "Kol," she tries again.

He keeps walking.

.

.

They're staring up at the ceiling fan again, Kol chewing on the inside of his cheek and Klaus just staring passively.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Kol begins, eyes following the slow revolving of the fan. "I mean it this time."

"And why not?" Klaus' voice slides like silk in the moonlight.

Because she's warm when she's drunk, he wants to say. Because she tilts her heads when she's thinking, he wants to say. Because she drives him into a rage one minute, then drops him into a vast, empty sea the next, he wants to say. Because she pouts like a child when she doesn't get her way, he wants to say. Because, like you said, she's beautiful, and strong—full of light, he wants to say.

"Because she bores me," is what he says instead.

.

.

.

He pulls a suit out of his closet one day, and picks a daisy from one of Rebekah's vases in her room. Klaus appears beside him, taking in his dark clothing and set jaw. "Going somewhere?"

"Visiting you," he replies shortly.

"Oh." Klaus scratches the back of his neck and takes a step back. "Don't let me stop you."

Kol mutters an inaudible reply and walks out of the house, sucking in the morning air. Klaus had never really liked to join them on their "little visits", as he called them. He had decided that his burial was enough of a reminder that he was six feet under, dead; flat out dead.

"What does it feel like?" Kol had asked once, when they were staring up at his ceiling fan as usual.

Klaus was silent for the longest time, and Kol had wondered if he had crossed a line—wondered when he started caring about such things—and was prepared to let it slide when Klaus says, "Like closing your eyes."

Kol stops midstride and closes his eyes, trying not to feel the sunlight on his face, trying to imagine nothing but velvet linings around him. He can't picture it.

"Kol."

He opens his eyes, and Caroline's before him, another rose in her hands.

"Caroline?"

She averts her gaze. "This is the first time I'm visiting him since…" She gestures with her apple-white hands. A month ago. Of course.

He shrugs, walking up beside her. He doesn't offer his arm like he knows Klaus would do, doesn't ask about the weather; just walks.

"So. How are your classes?" Caroline asks tentatively.

"Enlightening," is all he says.

"The committee really liked your idea," she tries again. "The Swinging 20's. Who would have thought, right?"

"Who would've thought," he repeats flatly. They're a few metres away from Klaus' grave, but he finds he can't move because Caroline's stepped in his way.

"Did—did I do something?" she asks, hands on her hips. "I know we're not the best of friends or whatever indefinable thing we have between us, but you haven't so much as _looked _at me since a week ago—"

"I thought you'd be rejoicing," he says coldly, sidestepping her. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to mourn my brother's dead, cracked body while you simper on about insignificant things."

Caroline blinks her big eyes up at him as he passes, clearly stung.

He's laying down his flower when he lets out a cry, feels the thorns pricking the beck of his neck. "Are you fucking kidding m—?" he has her up against a tree before she can even lower her hand, the rose she had chucked at the back of his head brandished in her face. "What were you expecting to gain from this, Miss Forbes? Exactly _what_?"

"An apology, you _prick_," she spits back, feet kicking uselessly at his knees. "I haven't done anything remotely hostile to you, and you're acting like a huge ass douche. Talk about a one-eighty."

"In case you haven't realized," he says, tightening his hold around her throat with each word, "not — everything — is about — you."

"As opposed to—to everything being about y-you?" she manages to choke out despite his grip, and he realizes a normal human being would have died by now. He steps back and she drops at his feet, clutching her neck and coughing.

He thinks he feels guilty, but he's not sure—he's not really sure what to think anymore.

When Caroline looks up from the grass, he's already gone.

.

.

.

"Brother," Kol says coldly as he steps into the sitting room, "I'll have you know I stumbled upon sweet Caroline visiting your lonely, cold grave."

Klaus sits up, eyes sharp on Kol's hard expression. "What did you do?"

"I strangled her."

"You st—what the _fuck_ is going on in that head of yours?" Klaus is immediately in his face, snarling and spitting in his fury, but Kol sidesteps him and drops mechanically onto the couch. Picks up the remote. Clicks on the television. Jersey Shore's on, he notes with mild interest, and settles back against the cushions.

"Feet off the table," Klaus snarls. "It's antique sandalwood."

Kol ignores him, flipping to another channel—he'll never get over these remote control things, they're so fascinating—and Rebekah's favourite movie plays across the big screen. He watches, transfixed, as the poor writer catch up to the striking brunette and they proceed to argue in the rain, arms gesturing, tension palpable, eyes harried.

He feels himself being slammed off the couch, across the room, all the way to the mantelpiece where the fireplace promptly cracks down the middle. Klaus is swinging a brass lamp across his face, and he ducks—the metal clangs heavily into the marble instead.

"Defending Caroline's honour?" Kol grunts as he heaves an armoire at Klaus' face. "How _noble_—but in case you haven't realized, she's not the damsel you make her out to be."

"If you weren't so utterly pathetic—" Klaus swings his arm and the armoire crashes to pieces, "—I wouldn't have to all the time."

"If _I _were utterly pathetic?" Kol yells, ripping a shelf off the wall and slamming it into his brother's back. "_You_ were the one making me chase after her like a dog, pestering her about you day and night, and I just followed blindly like an _idiot_—"

"Which you _are_," Klaus spits, using the precious coffee table as a shield and swings it into Kol's stomach. Kol clambers backwards, spluttering, and Klaus takes the chance to roundhouse kick him in the gut. Kol splutters out a curse laced with blood and crumples to the ground, but not before kicking out Klaus' legs under him. He realizes with desperation that he can't win—Klaus is stronger, so much stronger—

"Caroline never loved you," he chokes out, reaching for the discarded lamp post. He grunts, using it to stand up, before using all of his shoulders to thwack it across Klaus' forehead. "Not the way you wanted to—_never_ the way you wanted t—"

Klaus has him by the throat—

_"Shut up_—" he snarls, dealing out punch after punch after punch, and Kol's laughing, cursing every so often, telling him how Caroline never mentions him; not if she can't help it, never mentions him except when he prods her about it, stop it—yeah, bring on the punches, deal them out like cards—that's all you ever know, stop _touching_ me with your stupid han—

Kol blinks, and Klaus' fist crashes into him one last time. He manages to find the strength to grasp Klaus by the collar and throw him off of him, spluttering, coughing, wheezing, "Nik—_Ni—_for the love of—_will you STOP_?"

Panting heavily, Klaus backs away, furiously swiping the blood off his cheeks. "What? Does Kol need a time out?"

He tries to shake his head, clutching at his gut. Raising his bruised head at his brother, he says— "You punched me."

"Observant," Klaus says, drawing back his fist—but Kol catches it.

"You—punched—me," he says, looking his brother in the eye.

Klaus looks at his arm, held in place by Kol's grip. Shakes it off.

Backs away. Catches his breath.

Runs.

There's a grunt in the hallway, and Elijah suddenly appears, taking in the state of the living room, his face completely aghast. "Was that—I just saw… Was that _Klaus_?"

Sighing, Kol makes his way back to the couch, the only piece of furniture still intact. "No, brother. Just a vivid memory."

Onscreen, Paul and Holly kiss in the rain.

.

.

.

Caroline's leaning into her mirror, seeing the last of Kol's bruises disappear before her eyes, when he hears the sounds behind her, but she's ready. She moves to the corner of the room in a blur and grabs her lamp, ready to swing—and lets it clatter to the floor.

"Klaus?"

"Hello, Caroline." He steps away from her and she takes him in, his torn jacket and the blood staining his shirt.

"That bad on the other side?" she tries to joke, but it hangs awkwardly in the air when he doesn't laugh. She swallows and crosses her arms over her chest. "You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me why you're in my room, all…"—she glances down at his feet, where he seems to be… hovering?—"…floaty."

"Well." He raises an eyebrow, wonders how to answer, before deciding on the obvious. "I died." He waits for a reaction, a jump of joy, a scream of surprise, (even prepared for some tears, he was) but she just stands there blankly.

"I know," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "But why are you _here_, in my room, and so…" She runs her eyes over his face. "Not dead. Wait—is this a Lexi thing? Unfinished business and the like?"

"Unfinished business," Klaus agrees. "What else is there?" He walks to her vanity, flicks open her jewelry box, touches the bracelet lightly. "You came to my funeral."

Caroline grips the corner of her bed. "You were there?"

"You looked lovely," he says in lieu of an answer. He turns his head to look at her, her arms clutched at her sides like she could fall apart any moment. Sniffing, she asks bewilderedly, "So while I was mourning your dead body you were checking out mine?"

That's all it takes. He walks up to her in two strides and starts to pull her towards him, but Caroline's already crashing against him, already standing on the tips of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his neck. Breathing in. He almost wants to stop her—he's the one who's exacted it, after all—but it's over as soon as it's started. She blinks, a little surprised at herself, and steps away almost shyly.

He pushes a lock of her hair away, marvelling at the way his skin skims her cheeks, feeling her smile against his fingertips. Her bottom lip quivers—he remembers with a pang what it means—and she takes a deep breath before asking, "What now?"

"I cross over," he says, a little bemused.

"Um. Okay." She stands back, watching. Waiting. He looks down at his hands quizzically. She tilts her head to the left. He taps his foot. After a while, she bursts out, "Aren't you going to fade away? Burst into flames? Something?"

Klaus frowns. "I'm not sure." He looks back at her almost accusingly. "Did you do anything?"

She raises her hands, backing away—_I got nothing_. "Don't look at me. I don't bother with the tribulations of the dead—too busy living."

"Technically, you're d…" Klaus steps back from the window, swearing loudly. Turning back to Caroline, he can only groan, "That fucker. It's not you."

"Excuse me?"

"It's not you. Just—shit," he says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "My apologies, love." He steps up to her, presses the lightest of kisses on her lips, then makes his way to the window. "Good bye, Caroline."

She doesn't make him stay—she just looks at him, with that small smile she always seems to reserve just for him, and says, "Give 'em hell."

He chuckles. "Oh, I always do."

.

.

.

"I thought you'd be dead by now," Kol drawls, kicking the rubble aside to rip the now-useless door from the liquor cabinet. "Or at least deader than you already are."

Klaus scowls and fades out, appearing next to Kol in the blink of an eye. "Don't make this more difficult than it already is, Kol."

"Nothing's ever difficult, Nik." He tries to find a glass that isn't broken, but gives up and swigs his Scotch from the bottle instead. "All a matter of perspective. Your exact words, remember?"

Klaus sighs. "Kol." He knocks on Kol's head, making the younger Original splutter his drink. "Remarkable. Makes me wonder how it wasn't clear to me before."

"What, that the spirits of the other side wanted you to shag Caroline?" He takes a bigger gulp of the alcohol, drowning in the slow burn of his throat. "In that case, why are you here?"

"For my moment of enlightenment, idiot," Klaus says. "So tell me. Do you feel any different?"

"I feel bruised, that's what I feel." Kol rubs the back of his neck. "I think there are still some splinters stuck in here."

Klaus just shakes his head. "In the month since my death, you've actually gotten off your arse and done something; gone to school, made friends—"

"I would hardly call Caroline Forbes a _friend_," Kol interjects snidely, ripping his tie off. "In the month since you've forced me on her, I've witnessed her getting drunk most spectacularly, been assaulted by her jibes, and even failed an art class because _you_ didn't want to be tethered to me."

"I was tethered to you because I was supposed to be tethered to you," Klaus wonders out loud. "Not Caroline, not Elijah—no. Because—"

Kol ducks out of Klaus' reach, glaring. "What, because I needed your help? I don't think so. I'm not a child."

Klaus smirks. "Indeed you aren't."

"Is _this_ your moment of enlightenment?" Kol asks, leaning against the upended armoire. "If it is, the spirits are being incredibly vague about it. I would have thought you'd just fade out. Burst into flames. Something."

Klaus looks like he wants to smack him upside his head or at the very least roll his eyes, but he puts his hands in his pockets instead. "These things you've got going on," Klaus says steadily, "mind you don't mess them up." He stands to leave, but Kol catches his arm.

"Is that it, then?" he asks. Takes another sip. "You're going?"

Klaus smirks. "Why, worried you'll miss me?"

"Elijah's not much of drinking partner." Kol shrugs, but the front he puts of crumbles soon after that. He looks eerily like the little brother he is when he asks, "Was it me all along?"

"Didn't you ever wonder why I left you daggered so long?"

"Because you knew you'd have hell to pay?" Kol asks hopefully.

"Idiot." If possible, Klaus' smirk seems to grow bigger. "I was worried you wouldn't be able to handle the new world."

"Always looking out for me." Kol rolls his eyes. He drops the bottle to the floor and shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "Well—good bye, Nik."

"Do more than just exist. Build an army or something—just don't let the Salvatores find out." Klaus knocks his forehead one last time, and adds, as an afterthought: "Oh—take care of Bekah." Kol nods and watches his brother, but he doesn't fade away like in those scandalous novels he catches his sister reading sometimes. Nor does he burst into flames or fall into a gaping hole that's suddenly opened up in the ground.

No, Klaus walks through the foyer and out the door, closing it soundly behind him.

.

.

.

Klaus is right, Kol thinks absently as Caroline walks towards him, a mug in her hands and a smile on her face. The colour really did complement her well.

Hair in casual disarray and a pencil behind her ear, she stops just a few inches away from where he's standing, paint-splattered and filled with the oddest sensation of having accomplished something. She hands him the mug—it's filled with O negative, his favourite—and stands back to survey her house. "So you blew off studying for finals for this?"

"Someone taught me to sort out my priorities recently," Kol says, drinking languorously. "What do you think?"

"It looks good." She tilts her head to the side, then peeks at him from the corner of the house. "Thanks. My mom's going to be real happy about this."

He nods, looking back at the house. They stand that way for a while, their shadows growing longer and darker under the sun burning low in the sky.

"So," Caroline begins conversationally. "What now?"

"Ever read Tolstoy?" Kol asks. "I figured we could skip _the Hunger Games_—" he makes a face—"in lieu of something substantial."

"Finnick Odair is _so _substantial!" Caroline gasps, bristling. "And I'm adept in pop culture, not weird Russian dudes with wiry beards."

"Very well." Kol holds the empty mug out at her and raises his eyebrows. "Have fun finding a reading buddy for your food book."

"Hunger Games," she growls, sending him a glare. "And for the record, it's about a highly advanced metropolis which holds _absolute power_ over the nation, _and_ deals with oppression and the effects on war and—and Liam Hensworth is totally hot, alright?" She snatches the mug from him and starts to stomp away, but Kol still has his hands wrapped around the handle of her _I'm the Fucking Queen of Everything_ mug.

"So convince me," he dares. He leans closer, and finds himself drawn to the tilt of her head, the way she licked her lips—his eyes trail upwards to her eyes, still so sharp, still so blue. "Persuade me with your… product—" He runs a finger tantalizingly down her arm and her eyes follow, her breath caught in her throat. "—and I might humour you."

Caroline swallows and ducks her head, before returning his heated gaze. "Fine. Tonight, our usual time. Don't be late," she snaps.

"Wouldn't dream of it, love." He flashes a quick smile and leans down to let his lips to brush lightly against her fingers.

She's still so warm.

.

.

.

**fin**

.

.

.

**A/N: **All the awards for a half-assed ending goes to…ME. Well, I _did_ say it was cheesy /cringe.

I'm deprived of sleep as per usual, I'll fix all of the stupidity when I wake up/get back from holidays. Yes, I'm going away for a few days! So no updates with my other fics… unless you guys happen to help inspire me :3

You with the face, leave an author some feedback won't you?


End file.
